The Heels

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I want those heels-

Those sparkling, silver heels-

With shanks so long that I could stab someone with those heels,

The type of shoes that my mom would call “stripper heels”.

Yes, they might be stripper heels

But I don’t care.

Yes, I know that I don’t wear heels much

But I want them anyways.

They call to me

How the Ring calls to Golem.

Their glittering exterior makes

Me flock to them like a magpie.

I don’t care if I look like

a Stripper in them.

I’m not pretty enough to make

a half decent stripper anyways.

But maybe, just maybe,

I’ll feel pretty with them.

I’ll feel pretty and tall and fierce

All of the things that I’m not.


And I’ll walk down the hall

And with each step my heels will resound

With a clickity-clack and a clackity-click

And my heels will kick ass.

They probably even smell shiny,

What with all of that rough glitter.

Gleaming like shards,

Shards of broken glass.


If this was like the movies

And someone were to lick my heels,

I bet that all they’d taste is the

blood from their shredded tongue and fierceness.

After all, those heels are

Towering, twinkling and bright,

The type of heels that make others stare.

I can imagine it now.

But my daydream fades as I’m ushered away

Toward smaller heels in neutral colors

But none of them can compare

To The Heels.


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